


Never Coming Home

by coveredbyroses



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-27 21:34:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18747556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coveredbyroses/pseuds/coveredbyroses
Summary: The brothers deal with yet another terrible tragedy.





	Never Coming Home

It’s thick in the air, the smell. That wet coppery scent that only comes with spilled blood, and lots of it.

They’re frozen, stock-still in the doorway. Dean’s mouth is dry and tacky in his mouth. It only takes maybe a fraction of a second for his brain to process, to tell him to  _move,_ but his limbs are so cement-heavy that it feels like he hasn’t moved in hours. It feels like he’s been doused with ice water, chilled to his very core, but he’s moving quick, breezing across the room until he gets to her. He falls to his knees.

Sam’s walking slow and careful, doesn’t bother to shut the door, though maybe he should. He can’t tear his eyes away from her, as much as he wants to. He watches Dean check her wrist for a pulse, a cottony lump swelling up in his throat as he does. He says his brother’s name, wincing when it comes out a cracked rasp. Dean doesn’t look up.

“No,no,no,no,” Dean’s murmuring, dragging his fingers through the drying blood so he can check for a pulse there, grazes right over that gaping gash in her across her throat like he doesn’t even see it. If you can call it a gash - her throat’s been ripped out. “Baby,  _no…”_

Sam hates the anguish drawing at his brother’s face, hates the raw grit of it in his voice. “Dean,” Sam tries again, voice softer, but still gruff. He kneels down just opposite him, her stiffening, lifeless body sprawled between them. Her eyes are still open. “It’s too la-”

“No,” Dean breathes, sounds so small. Sam’s only heard Dean sound like this a handful of times, and it always makes his chest clench. Dean swallows, shakes his head like he’s trying to clear it. “No. Th-the nest. We took out the whole goddamned nest!” His eyes are blown so wide; heart-wrenchingly boyish, like he just can’t understand - like it doesn’t make any sense. It doesn’t happen often, but this is one of the rare moments where Sam feels like he’s the oldest, feels the overwhelming need to protect Dean, to shelter him from all that’s bad in the world.

Sam’s mouth goes tight and he shakes his head slowly; sadly. “Not all,” he says, hoarse. He looks down. Her blood’s staining the carpet.

“No,” Dean says. “We were careful…we watched-” He gets a hand on his mouth and rubs. He has to keep it together. “Cas,” he starts, tips his head back and stares up at the ceiling. “I need you, man.”

“Dean,” Sam whispers, face grim. “It’s too late. She’s been gone too long.” Dean drops his chin to shoot him a look, stern and sharp. Sam looks away, grimacing when Dean shouts again.

“Cas! I said-”

Rustling wings stir the coppery air, and a looming shadow blots out the long, hazy strip of orangy pink sunrise washing through the open door. “Hello, Dean.” It’s the same greeting Dean’s heard a thousand times before, but it’s laced with something different this time, something like sorrow; like sympathy. Green eyes float to cool blue, narrow a bit because there’s no reason for pity; Cas is an Angel, he can bring her back - he  _will_  bring her back. This isn’t the end, Dean won’t allow it. “Do it,” he says, an edge of exasperation to his voice because why the hell is Cas just  _standing_  there, looking down on him like he’s some sad, broken thing?

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Cas says with a somber shake of his head. “It’s too late.”

Dean grits his teeth, jabs an icy stare in Sam’s direction at the Angel’s echo of those freshly uttered words. “It’s not. Do it.” Sam looks at the floor.

Cas exhales slow, sinks to a crouch at the still woman’s feet, fingers laced between his knees. “Dean. She’s been gone for hours from the looks of it-”

“Do it!” The strangled bark rips through the silence, makes Sam and Cas both recoil at the sudden boom, but the Angel nods and rises, rounds Sam so he can kneel at her shoulder. His eyes bloom icy-blue as he presses two fingers to her cold forehead. Dean watches, breathless as he waits for the color to return, for the life to spark back into her eyes.

Nothing. There’s just…nothing. No color, no spark. Cas’s eyes flicker like a shorting light as his Grace drains, and then he rocks back to his heels, gasping and spent.  “I’m sorry,” he pants, looks at Dean with that awful solicitude.

Dean looks down at her, looks at that terrible contrast of coagulating blood against waxing flesh. He takes her hand in his, fingers stiff and curled. “Is she…” he swallows against the heavy lump in his throat. “Can you see if…” He can’t say the words, won’t say them. That would make this final, make it real.

“I’ve no doubt where she is,” Cas says, crystal blue eyes kind. “But if it’s of any assurance, I can make a trip to see.” Dean nods. He doesn’t really need the confirmation, he knows where she is, but some part of him needs it, needs to know she hasn’t skirted her reaper.

Cas is gone with a feathery fluttering sound, and then silence hangs heavy. “We gotta get outta here,” Sam rasps. “Why don’t you get her out to the car. I’ll get the place cleaned up.” Dean doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even look up, just sits and stares at the hand so small in his.

“Dean. We have to go.”

Dean cries.

*

The fire roars, licks and sparks up into the inky Kansas sky. Sam stands with his fists shoved deep in his pockets, shoulders hunched, lashes wet. He sniffs, works his jaw as he tries to think of the right things to say. He’s done this so many times now, far too many to count, but the words just aren’t coming.

Dean’s standing to the right, stands a little too tall, a little too relaxed; hands in the pockets of his navy jacket. There’s still a rusty smudge of Vamp blood streaked over the sharp line of his jaw. Her killer hadn’t been hard to track with the help of the motel’s security footage, and as much as Sam had pleaded with Dean to let it go, that it wouldn’t bring her back - he knew he wouldn’t, knew he couldn’t.

They’d found him back at that barn, kneeling amongst the carnage. Sam doesn’t know all that happened, doesn’t know what all his brother did because Dean had ordered him to stay in the car, to stay with her body. He does know that Dean had taken his time, had made the thing suffer just as they had, just as they will.

He watches the fire burn her away, and he realizes only now that he’ll never touch her again. He’ll never feel her warmth under his fingertips, under his lips. He’ll never smell her again; flowery-sweet after a shower or breathe in that vanilla perfume she liked so much. He’ll never taste her or hear her voice again. She’s gone.

And she’s never coming home.


End file.
